


Learning to Ride

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Fatherhood [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bikes, Bonding, Father Son Bonding, Fatherhood, Fluff, Gen, Jason Todd feels, Teaching, batdad feels, sonship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 22:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Bruce was going to teach Jason how to ride a bike, but he'd died before they'd gotten to try. When Jason finds his bike in the attic Bruce decides it's maybe time to try again.





	

Jason couldn’t remember why he’d gone up to the attic. There’d been a reason, he was sure, but whatever it had been was lost on him the moment he laid eyes on the bike. Unlike most everything else in the dimly lit space it was pristine. Not a speck of dust or dirt rested on it. The paint was as fresh and red as the day Jason had picked it out at the store. The tires were full and the chain looked brand new.

He reached out and touched his hand to the rubber grips on the handles, brushing his fingers over the rough edges of one of the bike’s only imperfections. The rubber was scuffed just so on the handle from where it had hit the concrete. If he reached down, he’d find a matching scruff on the hard plastic of the pedal. He’d been supposed to go out with Bruce to ride it. Instead he’d been late, caught up at a meeting. What it was for Jason couldn’t remember, he hadn’t cared enough at the time, only that it had ruined a promise. He’d wanted to show Bruce, show him what he’d missed out on, by learning himself.

He’d found out quickly that the bike was a bit too big for him, just like Bruce had warned him, and the weight of it had been too much. Too much to attempt riding, especially when he didn’t know how. Except he’d been so angry. So, he’d acted out, wanting to stir an emotion from Bruce, even if it wasn’t the one he actually needed. All he’d gotten for it was a scraped knee and a scuffed bike.

He had the distinct memory of shoving the bike against the brick of the shed he was supposed to keep it in and stomping inside. He’d blown past a worried Alfred and disheveled Bruce, just come back from his meeting, only half an hour late for their promised time.

He’d seethed with self loathing for the rest of the night. At falling. At scratching his new bike. At himself for not waiting for Bruce. He couldn’t get Bruce’s confused look out of his head, or his words twinged with hurt. He’d promised. He’d left early. He’d even come back. If only Jason had waited. There was still a faint scar on his knee from the accident. A little white line as a reminder of how impatience and hotheadedness could mess up something good.

“There you are, do you need some help finding the box?” Bruce’s voice, jarring in the way it was so normal, erased the lingering tones of hurt Jason had almost been able to hear moments ago.

Jason turned to look at him, Bruce had noticed the bike. A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I remember when I got that for you.”

It hit him again how dusty everything else was. How the room was filled with the disused, old, and _forgotten._ His hand fell from the handle like it had burned him. His mind went back to the memorial, always in sight, always ready to bring fresh the memory of his death. And his room, the first time he’d walked in it had been like a tomb. Frozen in time. Not a thing moved from where he’d left it, socks draped over his chair, a book half open on the bed. There hadn’t been a speck of dust to be found there either, it had even smelled clean. Like lemon, the bright scent a burning contrast to the dreary weight of memory. A room should never smell like lemon.

Anger, sharp and hot flooded him, catching his breath. Bitter, accusing words rested on his tongue, only stilled by the fresh memory of the little scar on his knee.

“Did you give it to Tim?” he asked, the words and invitation instead of a demand. He almost wished he’d insisted on knowing the whole history, no dancing around, no painful realizations. Just the truth.

Bruce stepped forward, his hand finding the spot Jason’s had vacated and shook his head. “I’d never give away your bike, Jay.”

There was something painfully fragile spread between them then. No loud words had been spoken. No fists had flown. It was a miracle that neither had happened yet. Jason almost wished they could leave it at that. At ‘working order’ and his bike. But he had to know. Maybe it was a lack of self preservation, maybe it was the pain that dug at his chest every time he looked at the memorial in the cave. Maybe he was just a son wishing to know he’d been loved by his father.

“So why’s it here?”

He could see it in Bruce’s eyes. How he’d wanted the fragile peace to stay, just like Jason had. He watched as they shifted, the corners creasing as his eyebrows tilted down, resolved to answer the question no matter the consequences. Jason hated it. Hated how Bruce would do anything for him. Anything to bring him back home. He hated how bad he felt when his words stung. Worst of all, he hated how good Bruce’s brokenness made him feel.

Bruce ran his thumb over the broken rubber. “You never learned to ride it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

It was an out. One last chance for Jason to let the topic drop. To let the two of them fold back into the uneasy peace between them. To let part of his ghost die. But he couldn’t. Bruce knew it. Jason knew it. This was how it always had to be between them. There was a violence to getting venom out of one’s system. The act of pulling venom from one’s veins was always painful. It took a wound, and the risk of another. Jason had plenty of wounds, and Bruce had shown his willingness to risk it all time and again.

Bruce pulled his hand away from it, the soft smile he’d given it minutes ago a long forgotten memory. “It hurt to look at.” He said, his voice tight with repressed emotion.

Jason had known that would be the answer. But knowing was a weird thing. There was head knowledge and heart knowledge. One could only prepare for part of the impact of words. Jason had not prepared enough. The anger came surging back, fueled by hurt.

“So, you shoved it up here along with all the other forgotten things.” There was steel in his voice, steel and fire. His fists were clenched, nails digging crescents into the soft of his palms.

He didn’t want to yell. Yelling would stop the conversation. It would stop the momentum forward, and he wanted to get past this, move past the painful reminder of how Bruce couldn’t stand to see a sign of him unless it was a soldier’s memorial buried in a cave.

Bruce was the first to raise his voice. Not with anger, with frustration. Jason could feel it in the air, and see it in the lines in Bruce’s neck and across his hands. There was the familiar crease to Bruce’s brow, the one that said he was tired of circling the same problems, and giving the same apologies.

“I didn’t forget it, Jason, I _saved_ it.” His voice inching up from the tight quiet control he’d held so far to something more impassioned.

Jason opened his mouth to argue, to tell him that putting it in the attic wasn’t saving it, it was hiding it. Hiding the hurt, hiding the memory of him. But Bruce was already continuing, his words snapping Jason’s mouth closed.

“I tried to keep it out. Just like I tried to keep your room open, and your books on the shelves in the library. But it ripped my heart out every time I saw it." Like a crescendo his voice rose and fell with the words, dipping to a whisper as he finally turned his gaze to Jason.

“Yet you keep that _memorial_ ,” Jason spat the word, “How is that any different then this?”

He grabbed the bike, thrusting it first out towards Bruce, before jerking it away so he couldn’t take hold of it. It was so light. So small now. All Jason wanted to do was break it. Tear apart the shiny promise of learning. The idea of a normal life.

“The memorial is different. I’ve told you.” Bruce had a hand out towards the bike now, an attempt to stop whatever destructive action Jason was going to take on it. “It’s to remind me of how to act in the field. To keep you all from being soldiers. The bike. The books. Your room. They all reminded me of the boy, the child I lost. I--” His voice broke, his eyes red like the bike in Jason’s hands.

Jason didn’t realized he’d thrown it until the bike was crashing into a stack of boxes, crushing them, even with its light weight. It should have made him feel better, instead he felt more broken inside. Regret washed over him as soon as the last box crashed to the ground. He had to hold himself back from moving towards it to check for damage.

“Jason.” His name was a beat of fatherhood and heartbreak.

“I didn’t even get to learn.” The words slipped out of Jason’s mouth like those a muttered by a toddler, exhausted from a tantrum, and left with nothing but what they really wanted.

He didn’t know what he expected from Bruce. If he thought the man might say something, or move in for a hug, or just turn and leave. When Bruce moved towards the bike, carefully extracting it from the ruined mess of boxes and started for the door Jason was left flabbergasted.

“Bruce?” He asked, and his father paused, turning to raise an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing?” Jason still felt deflated, but the confusion was adding strength to his muscles.

“I'm going to teach you how to ride.” Bruce answered like it was obvious before pushing open the door and strolling out.

He was four or five steps down before Jason’s brain clicked in gear. “I can’t fit on that bike anymore, Bruce!” He called.

But his father hadn’t stopped, Jason watched as his head disappeared down the steps and he cursed to himself before bolting after him “Bruce!”

He couldn’t get in front of him with the bulk of the bike and the narrow passage so Jason settled for following close behind. “This doesn’t even make sense. Don’t you have a pitch meeting to go to in an hour?”

The irony of the meeting wasn’t lost on Jason, his knee twitched with the reminder. They reached the bottom of the steps and he slid up to the side of his Father, or as close to as he could with a bike in the way.

“I’m not wasting another day not doing something I should have long ago.” The resolve in Bruce’s voice caused Jason’s steps to falter in his mad chase, and Bruce pulled ahead of him again.

Jason didn’t even care about learning how to ride the bike. Not really. Not anymore. He did, but he didn’t. He didn’t say that though. This felt too important to stop. And he didn’t even know why. It was silly. The idea of Bruce dragging out an old bike, built for a child, and potentially insisting that Jason actually get on the thing was boggling.

They passed Alfred, the man raising an eyebrow at the affair as Bruce asked him to cancel his meeting for the day. Jason wanted to stop, and beg Alfred to intercede in the quickly spiraling mess. But Bruce had outstripped him again, leaving Jason feeling like he was a twelve year old just trying to keep up with their father’s long legs. Which, again, was ridiculous since he was taller than Bruce now.

He finally managed to get in front when they made it outside. The warm air and sun a contrast to the dusty attic they had all but fled from. Jason pushed forward and tried to stop him, but Bruce wasn’t accepting his bodily barricade. Jason found himself walking backwards, hands pressed out towards Bruce in some kind of plea.

“Bruce, this is silly. That bike is for a kid a lot smaller than I am. I’d break it sitting on the thing."

His words had no effect on the stony look on his father’s face. It was set in that stubborn tilt that Jason had seen too many times growing up. The one that said no matter what he did Bruce’s mind would not be changed. It was Bruce’s angry face. And his angry walk. Everything about him screamed bubbling frustration and anger.

All of a sudden Jason knew that it was directed at him. It was of course. Jason had pushed for this. He’d started the argument instead of letting things rest. His words had forced Bruce into a corner he only had one way of moving out of, and that was by fixing the problem. A problem he didn’t want to fix. Jason’s stomach turned at that. Up until today Bruce had no intention of dealing with the bike issue. Of ever considering teaching Jason to ride again. Jason himself hadn’t cared until he’d seen the bike.

Bruce had better things to do then take Jason outside and teach him how to ride a bike. He wasn’t twelve anymore. If Bruce should be teaching anyone it was Damian, not Jason. Jason had missed his chance. He could have learned by now, he’d had every opportunity. He didn’t have to wait for Bruce to show him. And here he was, having forced his father to throw away his plans for the day to teach him.

It would have been fine if Bruce seemed happy about it. Instead his body language seemed that of a man conned into doing something pointless. Something he’d had no intention of ever doing. He wasn’t stalking out to the yard with an ancient bike for Jason, it was to get Jason to leave him alone.

“You don’t have to do this.” Jason said, trying to keep his voice hard and impatient. “I don’t need to learn.”

The sun glinted off the bike and Jason wanted so badly to learn. But not this way. He wanted the smiles and laughter that should have come on the day he’d scratched the bike. Not the heavy weight of responsibility that lingered over both of them. He wanted joy, not guilt. Both times, both failures had been his fault.

“Yes I do. And so do you.” Bruce said setting the bike down by the shed.

Jason stood by it, his stomach churning, because this was happening. He was with Bruce outside, about to learn to ride a bike. And he should be happy because it’s what he’d wanted, what he’d missed. But he wasn’t because he’d _made_ Bruce do this, and he wasn’t sure his father really wanted to be there. No he knew it. But Bruce’s voice had been softer than he’d expected. And he was sick with nerves, his usual bravado lost in the paradox that was his childhood catching up with his second life.

Bruce looked at him then the bike before grimacing. “You might be right about the size.” He crossed his arms and frowned for a moment before nodding. “Give me a second.”

Jason wasn’t sure what to do as Bruce opened the shed and went inside, so he stood there, following Bruce’s request to wait. He shrugged off his leather jacket for something to do, peeling the overly hot leather off his arms. The sun was warm, and his panicked backwards walking had made his jacket stifling. While he waited, he looked around for a place to leave the coat. He settled for hanging it over the shed’s latch.

Spring was blooming around him, the trees that partially shaded the shed and its surrounding grass were speckled with bright green leaves. The grass was almost free of the few brown spots remaining from winter, and everything felt so new. Too bad Jason wasn’t feeling the same. It wasn’t fair for everything to be so fresh and alive while nerves and doubt buzzed inside him.

Bruce returned, wheeling out a second bike. Black and designed for an adult it looked like something Jason would actually be able to ride. It was also painfully familiar.

“That’s your bike.” He said.

Bruce gave him a small smile. “It’s a little worse off since you tried to ride it, but yes it is.”

Jason grimaced. “Sorry.”

He remembered the day he’d tried to ride the bike, jealous of the kids at school who kept their bikes locked up with chains and rode home on them, he’d decided to try Bruce’s. As a kid he’d thought it would be easy to hop up and ride, that time he’d ended up popping a tire and bending the handle with the force of his fall. He’d been unable to hide his attempt as he’d limped inside with a twisted ankle and bloody elbow.

Jason wondered for a moment if he was simply destined not to ever learn to ride a bike. So far, all his attempts had been wreathed in tragedy. Was it the universe telling him to stop trying? Would the same things happen now that he was here with Bruce? Would something worse happen? Had he just set both he and Bruce on a worse path because he couldn’t let go of a stupid bike?

“It was nothing a little elbow grease couldn’t work out.” Bruce said as he walked the bike over to rest by Jason’s and motioned towards them. “Which would you like to try?”

For some reason, Jason assumed that Bruce had rolled the bike out for himself. When he’d been presented with the options he stood staring at them for a moment while his brain sorted past assumptions and onto reality.

“Yours, if it’s alright.” His voice came out feeling smaller than he’d intended, but everything happening was so surreal he still hadn’t decided if he’d simply passed out in the attic or not.

Bruce sighed and seemed to be attempting not to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t ok, Jay.”

His cheeks flushed at the answer and Jason nodded. “Right. That makes sense.” He took the bike from Bruce and looked at it, unsure what he was supposed to do next. He knew that he should try getting on, but he held back, as if waiting for permission.

The handles under his palms felt chalky with disuse. Had Bruce ridden this since Jason tried it? It was repaired, the tire new, and the handles in their proper places, but the black paint was coated in a film of dust so thick it almost seemed to be painted grey.

Bruce moved to stand beside him, one hand on the front of the handlebars to steady it. Jason swallowed and climbed up onto the bike, settling himself on the dusty seat. His brain told him that balancing on the bike was the same as balancing on his motorcycle and yet it wasn’t. The bike was smaller, thinner, and lighter. He wobbled sitting on it and felt foolish as Bruce set his other hand on the bars to make sure he didn’t fall.

“What now?” he asked.

He remembered the initial thrill of climbing onto the red bike when he was a kid, the adrenaline that came from how he’d rushed through balancing and pushed the bike off. The terror of how it had wobbled underneath him, and then the ground rushing up to meet him.

“Now,” Bruce eased his way to the side of the bike, still holding onto the handles, “You get used to the weight of it. You’ll probably have an easier time, it’s a lot like balancing on your motorcycle.”

“Am I just supposed to sit here?” Jason asked.

Bruce shook his head. “Put your feet on the pedals, I’m going to push you.”

Jason’s face burned as he found that he’d been holding his feet above the pedals, hesitating even to let them touch the plastic. He put them down and breathed in, fingers hovering above the break, as if he’d have any luck stopping the bike with Bruce pushing it.

“Ready?” Bruce looked him over and Jason nodded.

It was different, being pushed on the bike. The wheels moved of their own accord, but Jason’s feet were still moving along with them, his legs bending and stretching with the push and pull of the pedals below him. But there was no extra energy used, he wasn’t actually moving the bike, not with Bruce doing that behind him.

The smooth movement helped his body adjust to the bike, keeping him balanced. At least he thought he was staying balanced, he wasn’t sure with Bruce’s hands still guiding him. Jason still felt a little silly, but there was a giddiness building up in his stomach, slowly replacing the sick feeling he’d had.

“Good, you're doing great.”

Bruce’s voice was warm, like the sun kissing Jason’s tense arms. He could almost imagine that the outing had been easily decided on by them both half an hour earlier over toast and fruit. Even with the rocky start, Jason was enjoying himself. He was on a bike, not his motorcycle, but an actual two wheeled, powered by pedaling, bike. It was ridiculous and wonderful all at once. He wanted to laugh, he let himself smile.

They moved in a wide circle, Jason easing the handles as Bruce pushed. There was something transporting about Spring. He could almost pretend that he was a kid again, and that all his failures to try and ride by himself hadn’t happened. That Bruce had cancelled his meeting that day, and they were together for it.

All the guilt and confusion from earlier flooded back into him. It was his fault they hadn’t had this sooner. It wasn’t just from his impatience with the bike. He’d screwed up a lot more than a bike outing. Embarrassment more than anything flooded over him. Here he was making Bruce teach him how to ride a bike when there were so many more things they could be doing.

Anger, mostly at himself, but also at Bruce for going along with this charade, bubbled up. Bruce was saying something about giving it a few more minutes then Jason trying on his own. They’d stopped, probably when Bruce had started his suggestion. He shook his head, yanking the handlebars from where Bruce was holding them.

“I can do it.” Jason said, and before Bruce could stop him, kicked off again on his own.

He was still wobbly. The angry way he’d shoved the bike into movement left it going too fast. Jason’s feet were rushing to keep up with the pedals, and he found himself on a hill he didn’t remember. His hand pulled the break back, the plastic jamming against the metal of the handles and the bike jerked to a stop, sending Jason over the handlebars.

He rolled down the rest of the hill and landed on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs a moment before the bike crashed close by. Jason lay there trying to collect his frayed nerves from the fall, letting the grass beneath him cool the heat racing up his neck and to his cheeks.

Jason hated everything in that moment. Himself, Bruce, the bike, the open sky with its brilliant blue that should be illegal when one was feeling as bad as he was. How had this day gone so wrong so fast?

Jason closed his eyes against the tightening in his throat, knowing that at the very least they’d gone glassy with a sheen of tears. He would not cry, even if his chest was hitching now that he’d recovered his breath. Even if his whole face felt swollen with the tears. It didn’t matter that Jason had been enjoying himself. Or that he had almost convinced himself Bruce was too. This whole thing had been a disaster. Bruce had been right to not want to teach him, to be irritated by being dragged outside with Jason.

He heard the rushed steps of Bruce’s arrival, sending a wave of air over Jason, tangling his hair with fresh spring grass. The voice that broke through Jason’s own thoughts was far gentler than he’d expected.

“Jason? Are you alright? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” Bruce’s voice was above him.

Bruce’s voice was hesitant, and a little worried. Not angry. Jason wanted him to yell, to tell him this was his fault. His breath caught again and hot tears slipped out from under his eyelids, still squished tight against the outside world.

“Jason!” The worry had filled Bruce’s voice now, forcing Jason’s eyes open.

He wanted to answer. To say he was fine, but Bruce’s eyes had gone to the elbow that was stinging, before sliding to Jason’s knee. He didn’t have to look to know what his father was seeing, torn jeans and a scratched bloody mess, the halting breeze and stinging needles there told Jason enough.

“Your hurt.” Anger eased its way into Bruce’s voice.

He couldn’t help it, the tears flowed faster at his father’s words. He wanted to sit up and lean into Bruce’s chest, but his eyes were on fire with something inside. Blame, Jason decided. Blame at him, at his angry outburst.

“Crap.” The word came out like a half-strangled sob. Jason didn’t bother to try to sit up instead he just said the word again, stronger and with more feeling, a swear in its own right.

“Jason what’s wrong?” Bruce’s voice was a little more forceful this time, the anger behind it causing Jason to flinch.

“You win. Alright?” His chest was heaving with tears. “I was wrong to want this. Wrong to push. It’s stupid.” Each successive word hitched with tears. His hands went to his face, palms soaking up the tear tracks as he pressed his fingers to his eyes.

A sharp intake of breath came from above him and silence for a moment before. “Jason, what are you talking about?” Bruce sounded like he wasn’t sure if he needed to be angry or gentle, confused or stern.

Jason threw his hands down and glared at his father. “This.” He flung his hands out to the side as if to reference everything before sitting up.

“I’m sobbing like a baby—” He hiccuped only emphasizing his point, “and I shouldn’t be. It’s stupid. I’m a grown man, I shouldn’t cry.”

“Jay—”

“No, I’m not done.” Jason said, his voice stronger as the tears dried up against his frustration. “I mean, I’m upset over falling off a fricking bike? That’s ridiculous. And spending this whole time worrying about fighting with you, and how disappointed you are in me, I should just get used to that.”

Bruce flinched and Jason felt a pang of regret, but it didn’t stop the flow of words. “Worst of all I’ve wasted the whole day worrying about how I’d screw up _again._ It’s like I’m some kid again, trying to impress his dad.”

In his rambling he hadn’t looked at Bruce, but now that he was done he did. He immediately wished he hadn’t. Bruce’s face seemed to mirror his own, just without the streaks of tears.

“It’s ok to cry.” Bruce said and Jason’s chest hitched again. “Cry all you want, and don’t feel bad. Today’s been pretty rough, and I’m sorry for that.”

Bruce leaned back and put his hands together, looking down at them like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I probably shouldn’t have marched you out here without talking first. But I saw you standing with that bike and it hit me again all the ways I’d failed you. Not just that, but how weak I’d been for hiding the pieces of you away. I never should have done that.”

He hadn’t glanced back up at Jason yet, and for that he was grateful. That way Bruce couldn’t see the tears that had started again, slipping down Jason’s face in that helpless way that couldn’t be stopped. Where they were going to fall no matter what he wanted. The silent kind that stole his voice and forced him to listen.

“I wanted to do something to fix that, and when you said you hadn’t learned I thought it would be a good way to start. Except I spent the whole time blaming myself.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I bet you thought I was angry at you.”

Now he looked up and nodded, not even needing to hear Jason’s answer. “Jason, I was never mad at you. I really wanted you to enjoy yourself today.”

Jason nodded, a strange kind of agreement that made Bruce smile a tight tiny smile. He leaned forward, his hands going to Jason’s shoulders.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling like a kid, you are a kid.” At Jason’s confused look Bruce grinned. “Your _my_ kid.” He amended, “So, cry all you want. Yell at me all you need. Whatever it takes to get that hurt out, I’ll take it, because that’s my job.”  

He pulled Jason forward into a tight hug. For a moment Jason just sat there, unmoving. He wasn’t frozen or angry, or unsure. He was living in it, taking in Bruce’s action that solidified his words. Then he leaned into the hug, letting his arms wrap around his father’s waist, his face pressing into his warm chest. This time when he breathed in, the air came easily and the tightness that even tears didn’t dispel began to ease.

Jason let Bruce hold him until his chest felt light, and his mind had let go of all the embarrassment and confusion replacing it with the looping, _your my kid_. He leaned back away from Bruce and sighed.

“Do you want to try again, or should we call it a day?” Bruce asked, his attention already returning to the still lightly bleeding scuffs on Jason’s elbow and knee. 

Jason grinned at him. “Are you kidding? After all that do you think I’m ready to call it a day? No way, old man. I think I’m ready to race.”

He jumped up, and rushed towards the bike. “I’m taking yours, and you use mine. And, since your so experienced, you won’t mind me getting a head start.”

Bruce was on his feet then, attention wavering between the red bike close by and Jason who’d already gotten back on his old one. “Jay, wait. You might fall again… Jason!”

His shout came after Jason turned the bike back in his direction, and toward the manor. His excitement already making him more successful than his anger had.

“If you want to stop me, catch me you big boob!” he called laughingly, as he passed his father.

He glanced back just in time to see Bruce grab a hold of the red bike and start after him, his knees almost knocking his elbows as he peddled the too small bike after his. Jason grinned and turned his attention forward and ahead.


End file.
